Spoken Word Messages - Page 67

A thoughtful physician recently remarked: "I used to think of impatience as simply a natural part of some people's personality, but over the years I have come to conclude that habitual impatience is a mark of immaturity. "1

In a sense we should never be content with what we know. But neither should we be cynical about what we don't know. With a little knowledge, there is always the danger of assuming that what we don't know isn't so, that what we can't see isn't there, that what lies beyond our eyes and explanation is beyond the realm of reality. But the fact that we don't know something doesn't mean that it isn't so.

It is an odd thing, in a way, how each generation seems to feel that each preceding generation is somewhat old-fashioned—how each generation listens impatiently to the lessons of the last.  Youth is so sure the rules have changed.  Age is sure they haven't. 

Someone once wrote, "If the stars came out only once a year, the whole world would go out and look at them."' But since they can so easily and so often be seen, we become accustomed to them and let them seem somewhat commonplace. 

One of the very wonderful things of life is a sense of belonging.  And one of the most wonderful things to belong to is a loyal and affectionate family— family who have each their own individual activities and interests but who feel real oneness with one another. 

There is much said concerning Lincoln—but not too much for so sincerely great a subject.  Men do many things for their own comfort and convenience, and for their own survival, and will put forth almost superhuman effort to save themselves—physically—to lengthen out their mortal lives. 

Sometimes there comes a cleavage between people who should be close to one another—because of inability either to give or to take counsel and criticism and correction kindly. 

Hardly does it seem possible that a twelfth part of another year already has passed.  But however swiftly or slowly time goes, it is still and always happiness that we pursue, whether we know it or not, whether we recognize it or not.  But with poor decisions or thoughtless acts or utterances, some of us sometimes seem to clutter and confuse our lives—so much so that others wonder how we could do it. 

Again, we turn to happiness—the happiness which all people pursue.  "There is even a happiness," wrote Thomas Hood, "that makes the heart afraid."1

At this time of new beginnings, new purposes, new records, new resolve, we turn a moment to a subject that is timeworn, yet always timely: the subject of "happiness" - which all people pursue.  But, said Publilius Syrus some twenty centuries since: "No man is happy unless he believes he is."1

On this question again of success and failure, and of closing the books upon the past, and then having immediately to turn around and repeat our performance: Life is very much like that—  always—every week, every day, every hour—almost.  We do continually have to repeat our performance. 

There is this sobering thought which the New Year suggests: In a sense, “success is never final".  The moment we close the books on one year we open them on another and compare our performance with the past. 

On this day, and even at this hour, there comes into our consciousness a sense of countless scenes and settings that we should like to look in upon, across this beloved land, and beyond, in many other blessed places, across the wide world: the sending of sincere messages; the giving and the getting of gifts; the going and the coming from places of worship; the warm exchange of greetings of families and friends; the turning homeward; the being at home (or the wishing that we were); the sweet, whispered conspiracies; the bursting in of children; the light in their eyes; the laughter on their lips; the arms around Grandma and Grandpa; the appreciation to parents; the tempting odors from the kitchen with their promise of a wonderful kind of overeating (approved or tolerated "just this once") ; the mellowing of feelings; the melting of hearts; the wonderful sense of doing something for someone!  

Recently a wise physician was speaking of the very favorable chances of recovery from certain diseases and from certain kinds of surgery. 

We should like to look once more at the uses of daylight and darkness, with something more to say concerning the darkness of discouragement.  As to the distortions of darkness—many things are imagined.  Troubles are magnified, and symptoms also, and worries become weightier in the hours of the night. 

On this question again of the Lord God's having divided the light of the day from the darkness of the night: There are proverbs and pronouncements from many centuries back concerning the use of the daylight hours that God has given. 

"In the beginning…” it is written “the earth was without form and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.  And the spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.  And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.  And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness.  And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night."1

On this question again of the point at which a person's character is safely set A man may, in his youth, from his parents, receive strict teaching and training and be schooled in solid standards and basic qualities of character.  But as he grows older and takes his own independent place, he may, under some circumstances, foolishly and unfortunately forget for the moment the teachings of his youth and break away a bit from the things that have made him the man he is. 

Somewhere we have heard the story of the old southern hunter who sent his faithful dog on an errand—an errand on which the dog encountered a forest fire and lost his life. 

Often children are heard to say impatiently to parents: "Don't worry about me.  I can take care of myself I" And adults often say the same thing, in substance, to their families and friends. 

In response to an accusing question as to what he is doing, it is a quite common occurrence to hear a youngster reply defensively: "I'm not doing anything" and this suggests again an interesting subject: that innocence isn't always merely a matter of not doing anything.

Sometimes when the unwanted events of our lives occur, we find ourselves praying and pleading to make some things as if they hadn't happened.  And we find ourselves blaming ourselves for what we did or didn't do and wishing for the privilege of going back and making a second decision. 

The time-honored custom of swearing in the witness has come to be a very commonplace occurrence—to "solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth . . . " This solemn oath has served many a weighty and important purpose. 

In the pressures and impatience and thoughtlessness of life, our relationships with others are often likely to be less considerate than they should be— and all of us it seems, are almost sure to have our feelings hurt from time to time—and often, unthinkingly, are likely to hurt the feelings of others also. 

With school under way once more, and also for opportunities for work, many young people find themselves away from home—some for the first time.

An ancient philosopher offered this interesting observation: "If we could be twice young and twice old, we could correct all our mistakes."1

There is in most of us at times a tendency not to do anything that is difficult to do, not to perform any unpleasant service or engage in any inconvenient activity. 

As we look back upon the plight of Hamlet with all his problems, one of the things for which he was most to be pitied was his inability to make up his mind.  But Hamlet wasn't the only one who has hung between "to be or not to be."

Summer has all but slipped away. 

Last week we spoke of the beginning of things—of men who have had the courage to move into uninhabited places, and to make good beginnings.